


The seduction of a Red Peril

by bryonyashley



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Gaby is a smart girl, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/pseuds/bryonyashley
Summary: Fate has its ways, Napoleon has his way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My heartfelt thanks to [RileyC](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC) and [ patapera ](http://www.patapera.tumblr.com/) for betareading. Also thank you to everyone who reads my silly writing, for bearing with me and my love for these two idiots in love. <3  
>   
> 

**“Touching you will be understanding my fingers for the first time.”**  
(Kels Adeline Sapp)

  


It is the nonchalant touch, at first. The warm brush of Solo’s hand, objects and files passing back and forth between them, fingers sliding casually across his wrist, a hand on his back pushing him forward but staying in place longer than expected. It means nothing, Illya thinks. Still the sensation lingers on his mind and his skin and _it’s so frustrating_ and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Sometimes he wonders if, in that CIA file about him, the word “homosexual” is mentioned, if he is being “tested”, if Napoleon would do that and _how can I trust him_?

It’s September and they are in Bruges, the lights of fall caressing the colorful buildings of the city. 

Their previous mission has been successful and they were supposed to have three weeks off and _god knows_ how much Illya needs it. He needs to relax and stay away from Napoleon Solo and his confusing feelings for the man. Then Waverly got a tip-off from an undercover agent that THRUSH was about to steal a famous painting from the Groeninge Museum in Bruges to finance a military operation, and their vacations got postponed.

The mission was an easy one, infiltrate, replace the authentic painting with a copy, follow the thieves and arrest the instigators. Everything was going according to the plan. Solo as an art expert sent from the Louvre and Gaby, his attractive and very distracting secretary, have managed to replace the painting. Now Illya was tracking down the thieves so as to give Waverly and the UNCLE agents information as to where they were leading. 

The THRUSH agents were using a boat to escape, passing through the city canals at night. Illya was inside their boat, enforcement agents were ready to follow them with a helicopter and Solo was waiting in a strategical place, car parked at a little garage to the shore of the Minnewater Lake, ready to jump in wherever needed. That’s where something went wrong.

The last thing Illya remembers is the blast of the explosion in his ears, his head aching, his mind screaming to not blackout, water lulling him. _Swim!_ Then everything goes black. 

Pressure on his chest, air being pushed into him, lips, warm wet lips. Solo's mouth on him, a worried look in his eyes. Why is he doing that? _I hate him_. He begins to cough, water spewing from his mouth while he pushes Solo away. _Liar._

They swiftly reach the garage and get inside. Solo takes off his shoes and smoothly removes his jacket and jumper to wring out the water, drying himself with one of the towels placed near the laundry sink. Illya averts his gaze at Solo’s half naked figure, somehow annoyed at the sight, not that he hadn’t already seen Napoleon _showing off_ in the turkey baths of Istanbul or on the beach of Kérkyra. 

He shivers, cold air is seeping through the wet clothes and suddenly he feels dizzy and leans into the car.

“You okay, Peril? “asks Napoleon with a concerned look “How's your head feeling? Maybe you should lie down inside the car.”

“I’m fine,” says Illya absent minded, hands in fists, still angry with himself about the course of the events. The THRUSH agents have changed the assigned boat, blowing up the one he was expecting them to be in (and so to mislead the police) and he didn’t realize it fast enough. Luckily the painting was a copy, still…

“Here!” Napoleon throws him a towel “We have to move fast because the police will be around soon. Gaby will bring us our stuff, then we drive to Calais, then London. “ Illya grabs the towel but only dries off his hair and places it over the car.

Napoleon sighs, shaking his head, seeing Illya stubbornly freezing, wondering if he is a bit in shock. “You are soaking wet, you will get sick and I’m not going to babysit you, Peril, ” he says, moving closer.

Illya is about to retort but Napoleon is in front of him, eyes gazing warmly, and he gets distracted by the droplets falling down from the wet hair onto Napoleon naked chest.  
“Come on,” says Napoleon. Voice low, tilting his head, then slowly unzips Illya’s jacket, blue eyes locked with his own. _What do you really want from me?_ Illya wants to ask.

“Whatever happened, it’s not your fault,“ Napoleon adds gently, and he is so close, _so close_ , and Illya does not feel cold anymore, he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. 

“But this…THIS is YOUR fault!” snaps back Illya, breath hitching, because the power this man has over him it maddens him and because he is being seduced, and he can’t stand this game any longer. 

He leans down and brings their mouths together, hand on Napoleon’s neck, expecting to be pushed away but Napoleon gives back, lips opening to him, hot urgent kisses and Illya pulls his body against him moaning softly and _damn_ he can feel Napoleon’s smile against his lips when his hands start to wander over his shoulders and chest, fingers writing words on his skin, _mine_. 

Napoleon is sucking on his bottom lip, nibbling at his neck, pushing Illya’ turtleneck up to his chest and saying, “Get rid of this,” hot hands caressing him. 

“Wait, a car is coming,” Napoleon murmurs suddenly, pulling away and ruffling Illya’s hair, which gets him a _very_ annoyed stare from Illya. Napoleon grins happily. “I’m serious. You need to dry yourself and warm up.”

“Actually, for once I thought you were doing a good job regarding that, Cowboy.” says Illya with a hint of a smirk.

They recognize the coded knock at the garage shutter and Illya opens to find Gaby there. She enters, fabulously dressed in a red Balenciaga ensemble, looking around with a curious smile on her lips and saying “Are you guys fit to be seen? I turned off the bug receiver after a particularly loud moan.” 

_Oh fuck, of course there were bugs everywhere._ Napoleon and Illya exchange a look of dismay. 

“I’ve been told you saved our Red Peril here from drowning in the Lake of Love*. How romantic of you, Solo.” She keeps talking as if nothing has happened and puts the suitcase she has brought with her, over on the car hood. She opens it, men clothes neatly arranged inside. “Here, suits yourselves. Clothes and documents. I’m going now. I will be waiting for you on the powerboat at Calais.”

“Thank you, darling.” says Napoleon unflappably, already choosing the trousers and the shirt he will wear.

“You are not coming with us? “ ask Illya, puzzled.

“I have something better to do than waste my time with two lovebirds.” She answers, with a cryptic smile. “See you later, then.” Gaby waves her hand at them and leaves.

Just about to bring down the shutter they recognize Waverly’s Aston Martin DB4 roaring on the street. If they ever had had any hope to keep what happened between them far away from Waverly’s ears, now it was totally gone.

**Author's Note:**

> * The Minnewater Lake is indeed known as the "Lake of Love". :)


End file.
